The Resistance
by kahhtina
Summary: A Downton Abbey AU, set in Nazi-occupied France, Mary and Matthew meet as part of the Resistance movement. For MM AU Fest, in response to a prompt on Tumblr.


_This is in response to a Tumblr prompt for MM AU Fest, submitted by klarinette49: M__/M during WWII, they meet as part of the Resistance._

___Since thi__s is a work of historical fiction, so please allow me some liberties with the events portrayed above regarding __La Résistance française (the collection of French resistance movements that fought against the Nazi German occupation of France and against the collaborationist Vichy régime during World War II). For further information regarding non-Jewish resistance during the war, see the USHMM website or run a Google search. Feel free to contact me with any questions as well. :)_

_______Many thanks to **thefoodofloveismusic** on Tumblr for her assistance with the German phrases and to Kristin at **hartnellss** for reading it early and sharing her thoughts on it first. *HUGS*_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**_German-Occupied France, 1942_**

Matthew had been in France for eighteen months, living in a tiny village outside of Rennes during the past four. His time in France had been a necessary respite after the wound he'd received when the Free French forces have attempted to take Dakar in 1940. Operation Menace. Matthew still had nightmares about being in the hull of a British battleship, torpedoes shaking the metal beneath his feet and the final explosion that blasted him against the wall, rendering him unconscious. After being rescued, he had spent the next six months in a British military hospital, slowly regaining the use of his legs and trying to control his fear.

He knew he was lucky not to be dead. Lucky to have escaped the shellfire that had claimed so many other men. And, God help him, he knew he was lucky to be in France. Somehow, he had escaped the fate of so many other Brits: death in the Blitz.

A fate his mother had not been so fortunate to avoid.

"Madame Carlisle."

Matthew looked up from his book at the sound of her name, his eyes searching across the parlor of the small boarding house he'd inhabited since his arrival in the little village. He was there to assist the resistance movement, as he was one of the few men in the area who had military experience, but operations had been slow since he'd gotten there. Apparently, the Gestapo and the Nazi soldiers that patrolled the area were distracted by events on the eastern front, but this diversion would not last long.

"_Bonjour_, Monsieur Schmidt," she replied graciously, her eyes flicking to Matthew's. He immediately dropped her gaze, swallowing hard as he tried to translate her look, but she was so difficult to read he had nearly given up.

"How are you this evening?"

Matthew was surprised to see movement in his peripherals, glimpsing shoes so close to his he could have knocked his toe against hers. He looked up suddenly, following her with his eyes as she sat in the armchair adjacent to his.

"Oh, you're speaking to me?" he spoke quickly, his heart racing needlessly. His tongue felt dry and too large for his mouth. His hands shook, so he gripped his book tighter, feeling more and more idiotic by the second.

She frowned slightly, smoothing her hand over her skirt.

"Yes," she replied. Her expression was hard, but Matthew could see an almost imperceptible look of injury in her eyes.

God, he was stupid.

"I'm well, thank you," he said, wishing there was something he could say that would ease this sense of dislike he felt every time she looked at him. "And yourself?"

"Fine, although my students seem to have forgotten basic English grammar," she told him with a sigh, motioning to the stack of essays she had placed on the end table.

Matthew offered her a sympathetic smile. He wished he knew more about her, but Mary Carlisle had never shown any interest in getting to know him better. In fact, this was the first time she had ever spoken to Matthew without being prompted by him.

"What are you reading, Mr. Crawley?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Tennyson," Matthew said, showing her the cover of the book.

"I remember reading these in school when I was a little girl. I suppose it reminds you of home as well?" Mary questioned, reaching out for the book. "May I?"

"Of course," he replied.

As the book passed from his hands into hers, her fingers touched against his, sending what felt like a jolt of electricity from the place of contact up Matthew's arm. Mary's eyes had dropped to the pages before her, allowing Matthew to fix his eyes on her face, a faint blush in her cheeks not escaping his notice. He swallowed again, wishing Schmidt was not so close by, wishing he was not in the room at all.

"Do you have a favorite?" Mary asked, finally looking into his eyes again. Her gaze was so encouraging, so warm, Matthew felt dizzy.

"Oh, um-" he began hazily, raking his hand through his hair. The jazzy music playing softly through the nearby radio did nothing to clear his thoughts.

"I've always enjoyed 'The Lady of Shalott'," Mary spoke fondly, as though reliving schoolgirl days in her mind's eye. A time before this dreadful war. Her face darkened in thought and she dropped his gaze suddenly. "I suppose you were in London during the Blitz?"

"Only in 1941," Matthew explained. "I was holed up in hospital before then. After the business in Dakar."

Mary nodded, her eyes meeting his again, a look of understanding passing between them.

"You were here?"

"In Rennes, yes," Mary said, thoughtful. "But my husband, Richard, was at Dunkirk." A shadow passed over Mary's face and her fingers toyed with the wedding band encasing her ring finger. "He, um, didn't make it."

Matthew's brows knit together. He wondered why she didn't sound sad. True, the evacuation had occurred nearly two years ago, but Matthew knew many women who had not given up the memory of their husbands so willingly. His mother had been one of them.

"You loved him very much?" The question flew from his lips before he could stop himself, her eyes widening slightly in surprise at this directness.

"No," Mary said suddenly, blushing as her eyes focused on the floor. "I mean, I did, in a way. But it wasn't what a marriage should be." Her eyes met his again and Matthew felt his stomach do a somersault. "What love should be."

Matthew continued to stare at her, so many thoughts forming in his mind, he was unable to sort through them. He had had so few experiences with love, so little to gauge his own understanding against hers that all clever or deep responses escaped him.

"Why did you stay?"

"I nearly left," Mary said. "I hadn't been working before the war, of course. Richard joined the army and I received my allowance. But no one knew that France would fall so quickly. With his death, I was forced to move out of the city. There was an open teaching position at the school here, but leaving France was nearly impossible once the armistice was signed. And then I got word there was no one left to go home to."

"Your family...they were killed in the bombings?"

Mary inhaled sharply, her hands shaking the pages of the book as she spoke. "Yes. All of them."

Matthew looked around, surprised to find that Schmidt had left the room. They were alone.

"I'm so sorry, Mary."

He spoke her name softly, wishing there was something more he could do for her than offer condolences that he knew were so useless.

At this, Mary's eyes met his, almost hungry-looking and filling Matthew with a longing he was unable to express. Instinctively, he reached out to her, covering her slender fingers with his palm, the touch of her skin against his causing a current to flow through his veins, blood pumping loudly in his ears.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hardly audible over the rush in Matthew's eardrums. His heart thudded so hard, he wouldn't have been surprised to look down and see it beating against his tie.

Mary's expression was thoughtful as she held his gaze. She turned her hand beneath his, her fingers gently tracing against Matthew's palm.

"Madame Deforest said you would be going with the force tomorrow," Mary said, her voice shaky.

"Yes," Matthew replied, bewildered as Mary's trembling fingers moved over his. "It was my idea, so the least I can do is my best to keep everyone safe. There's a deportation train leaving in the afternoon. It's supposed to be taking Jews out of France...to God only knows where."

Mary swallowed hard and Matthew realized there were tears in her eyes.

"I suppose my asking to come with the force would be rejected?" she questioned.

"I've seen you with a gun, Mary. You wouldn't be doing us many favors," he quipped, but Mary bit her lower lip, obviously hurt by his words. "I'd rather you didn't," he added, at a loss to explain his reasoning.

"Because I'm a woman?" she shot back, pulling her hand away. His released hand fell heavily against her knee, the contact causing a pang of longing to move through him with a rapidness that surprised him.

"No," he replied. "It's not that."

Her eyes were still glassy, but they were angry now. "Then what is it, Mr. Crawley?" she asked sharply.

She stood and stalked over to the window, drawing the curtain aside to stare out into the blackness. He watched her for a few moments, shocked by her sudden outburst and the way she spat his surname at him, as though it was a grenade that she wanted as far away from herself as possible.

Matthew got to his feet, crossing to her in a few steps. He maintained his distance, but could hardly keep himself from reaching out for her. Instead, he clenched his hands at his sides, fighting every impulse within him to touch her, to anchor himself to this woman who seemed to dislike him so much.

"It's too dangerous," he told her.

She kept her face turned from his, but the tremors had returned to her hands. Her chin quivered almost imperceptibly, prompting Matthew to take a step toward her.

"I can't lose anyone else, Mary," he murmured.

The statement caused Mary to turn to him, a look of astonishment on her face as her lips parted in surprise as she processed the weight of his words. Matthew regarded her for a moment, realization flooding her eyes as he shifted closer, reaching up to brush his fingers along her neck. She inhaled sharply, the vibration beneath Matthew's fingers stirring the longing he'd felt almost since first moment he'd laid eyes on her.

"Surely, you can't still be unaware of my feelings for you," Matthew spoke softly. "You have to have known that I've been in love with you since I first heard you speak. Oh, Mary: so sure of your convictions, so perfectly ignorant of your effect on every single person in the room. God, Mary, do I love you."

Mary stared at him in confusion. "But you're always so argumentative. You oppose everything I say," she shot back, unable to process his declaration while his thumb grazed across her neck. "How is that an exhibition of love?"

Matthew laughed and he was pleased to see the corners of her lips force back a smile.

"Surely, in the past four months you've come to realize what a fool I am," he replied gently, moving closer to her.

"Oh, no, I realized that from the moment I first heard _you_ speak," she retorted, unable to keep the smile off her face, eyebrow arched in a way that made his knees feel weak.

"_Don't play with me._"

Mary glanced down momentarily, smiling thoughtfully before bringing her hands to his face, her eyes gazing into his. Matthew's heart stopped as she traced her thumb across his cheek and down his jaw before carefully outlining his mouth.

"I don't mean to, Mr. Crawley," she breathed, her eyes so tender Matthew felt as though he would topple any second.

"And yet here you are," he managed, his own hands trembling as Mary took one of them in her own. He swallowed hard as she brought his hand to her lips, brushing them lightly against his palm. "And it's Matthew, please."

"Matthew," Mary whispered.

Every inch of his body tensed as she spoke his name, her lips forming and exhaling the one word he had ached to hear her say for so long.

"Matthew," she repeated, her fingers caressing his knuckles.

Unable to take the suspense and helpless against her gentleness, Matthew drew her waist to him, his eyes imploring as his mouth hovered in front of hers for a moment, waiting for any sign of rejection. A small, encouraging smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she stared unblinkingly back at him. He breathed in slowly, his heart racing as lips came together at last, Mary's fingers tangling instantly in his hair.

Matthew stumbled backward, his shoulders knocking into a bookcase as Mary pushed against him eagerly, adrenaline pumping through his veins as his heart threatened to burst through his ribs. Their chests pressed together and he was sure she could feel his heart beating against her, sense his need to be closer to her. He slid his hands across her sides, lower on her waist as he memorized every contour he'd been admiring from afar.

The room suddenly felt very hot, the warmth of her breath mixing with his increasing Matthew's desire to be rid of his clothes or at least the jacket sweltering against his shoulders. As though sensing this, Mary's fingers loosened his tie, pulling her lips from his in order to kiss the previously-covered area on his neck.

With his mouth free, a moan escaped from him as Mary's teeth dug into his skin.

"Mary," he breathed, his voice ragged.

She leaned away, panting as they looked at one another. Matthew felt as though time stood still, his eyes hungrily devouring every aspect of her face, every blink that hid her deep brown eyes behind long lashes. God, did he love her.

"Come with me," Mary insisted, taking his hand in hers.

"Where are we going?" he questioned, the determination in her eyes making him feel like putty.

"Hush," she instructed as they approached the deserted staircase.

Matthew prayed they wouldn't meet any of the other boarders, anyone who would question their linked hands or Matthew's mussed up hair. Or what seemed to be their destination.

He followed Mary down one of the upstairs corridors, the one he knew housed the women. The one he had never ventured down.

They reached a door at the far end of the hall and Mary pushed it aside, leading him in with one glance of encouragement.

"Are you sure?" he whispered.

Mary shut the door at her back before approaching him. She reached up to his face, her fingertips caressing his cheek.

"I am," she said. "I love you."

At these words, Matthew kissed her suddenly, pulling her with him as he moved over to the bed, kicking off his shoes as they walked. Moments later, she was on top of him on the mattress. His hand lifted her skirt as he traced his fingers up her thigh before reaching around her waist to unhook the clasp at the small of her back. Mary pulled back from his lips, slipping out of the skirt and tossing it aside while Matthew gazed up at her blouse now hanging in front of her bare legs. He leaned up, pushing the hem of the blouse up before planting his lips against her skin, sketching a line of kisses across her stomach. Mary pushed his shoulders down onto the bed, dragging his lips back to hers while his fingers unbuttoned her shirt.

Fingers loosened remaining garments and Matthew felt breathless as Mary rolled off him. He turned to her, his eyes straying over her bare form, his fingers grazing across skin that had once been hidden from his eyes.

"Oh, God, Mary," he sighed, sliding his body on top of hers, reveling in the warmth that passed between their skin as he kissed her again.

* * *

Mary pressed her lips together in the darkness, the only sound Matthew's steady breathing at her side. She rolled to face him, her eyes carefully taking in his profile in the early morning light.

She still could hardly believe that this man loved her. So many months of believing in his indifference, of angry dances around one another that she now realized where mostly perpetuated by herself, all dispelled in one night. He'd been friendly while she had only shown him coldness. How he had grown to love her, after so many slights, she couldn't understand.

As though hearing her silent thoughts, Matthew grunted, heavy eyelids slowly opening to focus his gaze on her. Neither spoke for a few minutes, both simply gazing at the other, Mary continually surprised by the love in his eyes. Not one time had Richard looked at her like that. And never had her heart beat so furiously for him as it did for Matthew now, longing to protect him from any danger.

"Good morning, my darling," Matthew said finally, gliding his fingertip across her cheek, his voice hoarse but still gentle enough to stir the longing within her.

"Good morning," Mary replied, shifting closer to him under the covers. "Matthew," she added with warmth, causing a boyish grin to spread across his face.

She settled against him, resting her head on his shoulder, his lips tenderly pressing to her forehead as a few minutes passed.

"I want to marry you," Matthew spoke plainly, his chest vibrating beneath her hand.

With a frown caused only by her surprise, Mary propped herself up, meeting his eyes with confusion.

"You want to marry me?" she asked.

"Don't look so astonished," he retorted, taking her hand in his. "How could I not?"

"It's just...everything feels like it's happening so fast," Mary said, swallowing as Matthew's fingers rotated her wedding ring.

"Well, _war has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter and the things that don't_," Matthew replied. "And all that matters is that I love you. I want to marry you."

She watched his face, contemplating the question as she drew her index finger across his chest.

"If I answer, can I ask you something?" she prompted.

"As long as it doesn't involve you coming with us today," he said immediately, a serious look in his eyes.

"Oh, Matthew-" Mary began, rolling her eyes at his insolence. "How fair of you is it to ask me to stay behind when you're going to put yourself in harm's way?"

"Life is not about fairness. Trust me," Matthew said darkly.

"But I could _help_," she insisted, pressing a line of kisses down his neck that she hoped would help him see reason. "Please, I'm a member of _la résistance_. I've been going to the meetings here far longer than _you_ have."

Matthew sighed, his resignation evident as Mary leaned away.

"Swear to me that you will be careful. You will only gather intelligence for the force and nothing more."

"But, Matthew, I-"

"Please, Mary," he said firmly. "I don't want to lose you."

She swallowed as the emotion in his eyes took her breath away.

"So, what's your answer?" Matthew asked gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"_You must say it properly. I won't answer unless you...kneel down and everything_," she instructed.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I hope you realize I'm naked," he murmured, slipping out from beneath the blanket.

"I am highly aware," she retorted with a smirk.

He chuckled, kneeling by the bedside as he looked up at her, collecting her hands in his.

"Dearest Mary, _will you do me the honor of becoming my wife_?" he asked.

"_Yes_," she said, reaching out to comb her fingers through his hair. "Yes, I'll marry you."

A smile spread over his lips as he tilted his face up to meet hers. He kissed her quickly, returning to the bed as his hands ran over the recently explored contours of her figure. His lips moved to her shoulder, tracing the line of her collar bone. Mary sighed, shifting until she was on top of him, her hands cradling his head as his kisses made her entire body pulse beneath lips that left heat wherever they went.

* * *

"Are you sure this is wise, Monsieur Crawley?" Deforest asked, side-eyeing Mary from her place at Matthew's side. She tried to look impassive, but fury boiled beneath her skin.

"Madame Carlisle is part of _la__ résistance_ and her surveillance will be highly valuable today," Matthew insisted, but his own looks at her had been worried since the short drive to the train station outside Rennes. "I'm leading this, so please respect that. Mary...Madame Carlisle, please accompany me. The rest of you move out in five minutes, Schmidt has already taken his group to the tracks in the southeast. Bring all the pamphlets with you. We don't want to leave any trace of them."

As they walked to the tracks, Mary fought the urge to hook her arm in Matthew's, to touch him in any way that would be inappropriate. At least in view of others.

"God, I feel sick," Matthew murmured, his eyes scanning the area as they walked.

"What is it?" she asked, confused as they passed a few German soldiers having a conversation by one of the walls. He reached for her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm.

"Stay close to me," he instructed, his fingers still against hers. "I should have never let you come."

"Stop it," she insisted angrily. "I'm here, so let me do the job."

"Just promise me, whatever happens, you'll get yourself out. If anything happens to you because of me-"

"Don't talk like that," Mary muttered. "Everything will be fine."

They stopped along the corner of the platform, Mary turning to survey the area.

"Two soldiers, by the ticket both. Another by the gate," she whispered.

"Ten minutes," Matthew added.

"I see Monsieur Deforest," Mary murmured. Matthew looked nervous. They were early. Too early.

"Dammit," he breathed, pulling his arm from Mary's hand. "If Schmidt can sever the track lines in half the time, we've no reason to worry."

"If he can't?"

"You know what will happen," he murmured.

As Matthew spoke, a disturbance broke the muffled conversations of the other station patrons. A small group of people had been herded into the station, German soldiers flashing guns and knocking them against any who strayed too far from the group. Yellow stars were prevalent on their clothes, many of which were ragged and dirty.

"Jews," Mary whispered shakily, meeting Matthew's eyes.

"You need to leave. Now, Mary, please," he implored, his gaze frantic.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," she said over the shouts of the soldiers, ordering bystanders to clear a path. From the corner of her eye, Mary saw various members of their party handing out their pamphlets.

"Mary," Matthew begged, his eyes leaving hers at the sound of a gunshot.

They turned toward the sound in time to watch a figure crumple to the ground, the yellow star on the man's chest the first thing to hit the dirt.

"Oh, God," Matthew said, stepping away from Mary, toward the frantic group of Jews now clutching one another, cries leaving a ringing in everyone's ears.

Mary reached for Matthew, but he moved closer to the Jews as one of the German soldiers prodded a little boy. The soldier laughed as the child started to cry for his mother.

"Stop that."

Mary watched, awe and fear mixing together as Matthew's authoritative voice spoke out against the soldier. She felt as though time had been slowed down, every movement heavy and loud, the silence deafening as the soldier turned to look Matthew in the face.

"_Scher dich-_Go to hell!" the soldier shouted. "The fate of this swine does not concern you."

"Let them go," Matthew said suddenly. "What purpose could they serve for the German government?"

"The Führer has his uses for them. Even the little ones." He slapped the little boy with the butt of the rifle, a whimpered plea flying from the child's lips.

Mary moved closer, hoping to pull Matthew away before his anger erupted, but it was too late. With all his force, Matthew shoved the soldier hard in the chest, causing him to fall to the ground, gun still in hand.

"Matthew!" Mary shouted.

He turned to her, fear registering on his face as he realized what he'd just done. Eyes wide, he began to walk back to her side, his hands reaching out for her. A shot sounded and Matthew stopped in his tracks. He looked down, frowning as his fingers reached up to touch the blood seeping through the front of his shirt. His head tilted up and he met her gaze.

"Mary," he mouthed.

In an instant, he fell to his knees, his eyes still on her as she hurried to him, but she felt as though she was swimming through concrete. Then, the light left his eyes and he slumped to the ground, blood spilling from the fatal blow onto the platform.

... ... ... ...

Mary sat up suddenly, her heart racing and painfully throbbing against her ribs. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair matted against her hot forehead. A muffled sob escaped lips that she instantly covered, tears flooding her cheeks.

"Mary? What is it?"

His groggy voice pulled her back to reason as arms immediately pulled her to his side.

"Another nightmare?"

"Yes," she murmured into his chest, her hand clenched into a fist as she took a few tremulous breaths. "I'm sorry I woke you."

He loosened her fist and his wedding band caught the moonlight, the sight of it flooding her with relief.

"It's not your fault," he spoke quietly, smoothing her hair with gentle strokes. "It was just a dream."

She tilted her head up, meeting blue eyes that never failed to fill her with warmth.

"Oh, thank God," Mary murmured, brushing her hand against his cheek. "Oh, Matthew."

His smile was gentle as he pulled her back to the pillows, encircling her in his arms. Mary laid her head on his chest, her thoughts still swimming with the images that had seemed so real only moments before.

That day at the train station had not ended in the death of anyone, not even the Jew who's demise always triggered the start of her nightmares. Matthew had not been harmed, had only politely requested the soldiers treat the Jews more kindly. Which had elicited many eye rolls from the soldiers, but had provided enough of a distraction for those distributing the pamphlets. Regarding the tracks, mechanical difficulty was declared, but the station engineers had whispered under their breath about the resistance movement, wondering if the destruction to the tracks had been their handy work.

"It's been six months. I don't know why I'm still having these dreams," Mary said, trying to relax as memories rushed through her.

"The doctor said nightmares are more common in pregnant women. I asked him," Matthew added when she tilted her head to look at him, a questioning look on her face.

"Did he now?" she questioned with an uneasy laugh, tracing her finger down his chest. "Did he tell you anything else?"

"That you need to rest, my love. So go back to sleep. I'll be right here when you wake," Matthew insisted, one hand caressing her back in a comforting manner while the other rested against her swelling abdomen. Mary felt the baby kick against her stomach, Matthew's hand jostling beneath it. He laughed softly, always surprised by the liveliness of their child.

"Do you promise?" Mary asked, already feeling exhaustion pull consciousness from her again. Her husband's arms felt too safe, his laughter too comforting for her anxiety to keep her awake much longer.

"Yes, now sleep," Matthew insisted.

"I love you," she whispered, unable to fight the fatigue any longer.

"I love you, too, _my _Mary," Matthew murmured in reply, his voice the last thing heard as Mary drifted off.

* * *

_Thank you for reading this story! As always, any feedback or thoughts are greatly appreciated._


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